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So here I am. I've been in LA with Fellowology for five days now, trying to get my head on straight and emotionally reboot in his presence. It had been way too long after a summer that needed to go perfectly and did not. I've spent most of the trip so far helping him move. He, his previous roommate, and a coworker moved, and so I spent much of the weekend wrapping glasses in newspaper, cleaning out the refrigerator, and assembling furniture. I was happy to help and see his new place, and after he remarked that he could envision himself living here for 5 years, I allowed myself to privately indulge in fantasies of living here together, commuting respectively to the UCLA medical center and his place of work north of here.

Two nights ago he informed me that things can't go on as they have. For months I've been simultaneously emotional, volatile, and combative, while being withdrawn and shut down. I've pulled away. This is all because I compartmentalize heavily as a coping mechanism, to protect myself from anxiety, then spill over all those controls when overtired or intoxicated. In the course of these primitive, immature methods of handling my problems, I've lashed out and forced him to be both emotional crutch and whipping boy for the flares of genuine negative emotion I allow myself to feel. Even as he was explaining that things couldn't be this way anymore, and I feared I would lose the most important relationship of my life, my brain was going into protective mode - this isn't happening, everything is as it was ten minutes ago, disengage so this isn't processed. It took considerable energy to shove that aside and feel, and then I fell apart crying. After he fell asleep I crammed myself into the edge of the bed opposite him and stayed awake staring into space and crying. I know things can't stay this way.


I've extended my trip not only because I'm overwhelmed by everything back at school but because I need to be here and fix things. I need to spend time working on us and on me. This distance has been hard on us in general, but it has been worse on me in particular. I'm my best around him, overwhelmingly. In the last 4.5 months, we saw each other for his graduation for a weekend with other family and friends, then for a couple days during recovery from my abortion. That's it. We needed this badly, and I need this to hopefully get my head on straight and move forward in a healthy way.

It's been hard talking about things, not only because my natural inclination is to keep my problems private. Fellowology knows me well enough to have noticed my tendency to latch onto recent events to explain away more longstanding depression or anxiety. It is an accurate observation. However, he is wrong to believe that the abortion is such an "excuse." We can't discuss it though. He'll never know how I feel, and being reminded of that is more painful. I wish he could acknowledge that I am not being melodramatic, then never mention it again. It hurts too much that the person I thought I'd share that pain with felt no emotional attachment or response. I understand; he's a man. For him it seems it would be no different than if I'd needed treatment for chlamydia: he feels responsibility for his part because he's a good person, and that's it. He thinks I'm obsessing about it needlessly to excuse my behavior. In truth, I've had recurring nightmares for 2.5 months. It's made me scared of sleeping.

This has been the summer from hell. I just want to make things better, but I'm tired, stressed, and confused. I need to find some way to be open with Fellowology. I need to find some way to let go of my pregnancy, at least enough that he and I never discuss it, ever. (Life lesson: I will never again tell him about a pregnancy unless it is at least well into the second trimester, and I have decided to keep it) I need to find healthier coping mechanisms for challenges so I don't sabotage myself unintentionally. All of this is overwhelming, but maybe some GTers have some insight. For now I'm going to go cuddle my boyfriend and drink boxed wine. Lady out.

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